


Truth Be Told

by creativityandcoffee



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, I've always wanted to write about Aragorn finding out his true identity, Rivendell | Imladris, so that's what this is!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-17
Updated: 2020-04-17
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:35:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23706238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/creativityandcoffee/pseuds/creativityandcoffee
Summary: His dream last night—his vision—had warned him of a truth which, hidden from him now, would soon be revealed. It would change his life, his sense of himself, and lead him into a world he could not understand.And so, he ran.
Relationships: Aragorn | Estel & Elrond Peredhel
Comments: 2
Kudos: 13





	Truth Be Told

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first Lord of the Rings fic! It was a lot of fun to write, and I hope it's a good read. Enjoy!

It did not matter where he was running to—only that he was running away from here. 

His heart beat forcefully in his chest as he rushed uphill, the small pack on his shoulders threatening to break free in his haste. Although it was not yet dawn, he knew that as soon as Elrond sensed his absence, his advantage would be lost. 

His foot slipped on a root he had not seen and he struggled to re-find his balance, gripping to the tree in front of him to keep from falling. He stood there, breathing rapidly, and pushed back the long, dark curls that had fallen in front of his face. He shivered and wrapped his green cloak more tightly around himself, a defense against the last of the winter’s chill. 

Soon, it would be spring; his mother would rejoice at the warmer days ahead, when life was kinder, and everything seemed within reach. Rivendell would shine and sparkle, and—although the Elves were bad at showing it—they, too, would be filled with the joy of the changing season.

Yet he could not savor these thoughts of the future. His dream last night—his vision—had warned him of a truth which, hidden from him now, would soon be revealed. It would change his life, his sense of himself, and lead him into a world he could not understand. 

And so, he ran. 

It did not matter where he was running to—only that he was running away as himself: Estel, Gilraen’s son, a Child of Men, raised in Imladris and guided by Lord Elrond. He liked the person he had become; he had high hopes for who he would be in the future. He did not need any hidden truths or prophecies to get in the way of his happiness. Not now, and not ever.

Estel made his first step into the woodlands, and Elrond awoke with the knowledge that Isildur’s heir had fled. 

* * *

As the sun began to rise, greeting the new day with golden rays, Elrond stood silently on the balcony, letting his racing mind be calmed by the familiar sight of light dancing on the water. 

When he had sensed the uneasiness in Estel yesterday, he had thought it better to let it all go, to leave Estel to his own devices. Now, however, he realized the error of his ways. (Raising children never did get easier with time, even when it seemed like it should.) 

He knew exactly where Estel was; not only could he predict where the boy would run to, but he could also sense Estel’s spirit, flitting through the trees. No, finding him wouldn’t be the problem... 

How can you make someone accept a truth they do not want to hear? That was the question Elrond couldn’t answer. 

* * *

Estel sat in a clearing of the forest, taking small bites of the _lembas_ he had “borrowed” as he left. The taste brought back memories of the many trips he’d taken with Elrond, roaming these woods and, on occasion, the paths of the Misty Mountains. 

Just last week he had been walking here, proving that he remembered his lessons on healing, and specifically on _athelas_. He had learned well—healing had always been his favorite subject—and the proud look Elrond had given him had made his spirits brighter than the brightest star. 

Elrond was his teacher, his friend... and his foster-father. But the roles were never compatible; Elrond was always one or the other, and never all three. No one can be two things at once, even if both things lie within them. 

Estel stood up and stretched wide, his arms reaching as far as they could go. He placed the _lembas_ back in his bag, closed off his many, confusing thoughts about Elrond, and continued on his way. 

Estel walked through the woods quietly, reverently, as he had been taught to; the soft fall of his footsteps could almost be mistaken for that of an Elf, rather than that of a Man. But Elrond proved what it meant to be truly silent in the woods; he walked not twenty paces behind his student, without Estel ever noticing. 

This continued for the rest of the day. Soon, the woods were bathed in purple-orange light, and the shadows of the trees grew long and lean. 

Elrond could see that Estel was beginning to wane. His gait was less graceful, his shoulders had become hunched, and the ragged pattern of his breathing could clearly be heard. 

Just as the Elven Lord was beginning to wonder how to confront the almost-man, still-child walking ahead, Estel stumbled, fell to his knees, and let out a cry that Elrond had only heard once before. 

As Estel slipped into unconsciousness, he only had a moment to wonder why he had not hit the ground.

* * *

Elrond sat there, with Estel in his arms, and recalled the similar incident that had occurred ten years prior. He had heard the scream—everyone in Rivendell had heard it—and Gilraen had come running towards him, Estel in her arms, her face filled with desperate confusion... 

He gently laid Estel out on the ground, and searched carefully until he found the _cindaris_ thorns, stuck into the flesh of Estel’s left ankle. He removed the remnants of the _cindaris_ quickly, expertly, in the way that only trained healers can. 

The _cindaris_ plant has a playful spirit; whenever another creature gets too close, it finds itself impaled by some of the thorns that grow in a circle atop the bush. To almost all beings, _cindaris_ thorns are harmless: a mere nuisance that must be dealt with occasionally. And yet—as Estel’s incidents had shown—it has a much graver effect on Men. 

Elrond took out his small supply of _athelas_ , applied it to the wound, and whisper-sang a healing song under his breath. His earnest voice was carried on the breeze, and all in Rivendell slept a little easier that night, put at ease by the timeless hymn. 

After Elrond had finished with the healing ritual he stood up, hoisted Estel onto his back, and carried the sleeping child back home, where they both belonged. 

* * *

Estel was alarmed when he awoke in his own bed—what had happened? Was this a dream? And if not, why was he back? He made to get up, rising in the bed, but stopped with a grimace when a searing pain flashed through his left leg. As he slowly lay back down, he let his gaze wander to the side...

... and saw that Elrond was watching over him. 

Estel let his eyes slide shut, remembering the last time he had felt this pain. He’d been stuck in bed for weeks, barely able to move, longing to be free again... 

“It will not take you so long to heal, this time,” Elrond said. Outsiders were often unnerved by the Elven Lord’s ability to so accurately guess their thoughts; but for Estel, it was a familiar experience.

“I was there when the wound was made, and so was able to begin the healing process immediately,” Elrond continued, leaning back in his chair and looking at Estel calmly. He gave Estel moment to realize what that statement meant, and answered the surprised embarrassment in the boy’s now-open eyes as soon as it appeared. 

“You have learned the ways of the Elves well, Estel. But even among our own people, I am better at tracking and following than most. The fact that I found you so quickly does nothing to lessen the worth of your skills. But only one of us is the Lord of Rivendell, yes?” 

Those words, coupled with the kind look in Elrond’s eye, rendered Estel speechless. He tried once again to sit up in bed, and was pleased to be successful; then, he slowly turned back towards Elrond, steadying himself as well as he could under that piercing gaze. 

“I know that you are scared,” Elrond said, soft and serious all at once. “I feel the tremors in the air, and the restlessness in the water; all of Rivendell seems to shake with the fear you hold in your heart.” 

Estel felt a pang of guilt. Could he affect the city so strongly? He knew the Elven lands were well-tuned to emotion, but to think he was influencing it with the dark thoughts he’d been having lately... 

“Rivendell does not hear the heart of every being which crosses her paths. She only bonds with those who have grown close to her, who may claim that their homes lie within her rivers, her forests, her earth. Rivendell speaks of your pain because you belong to her—and you always will, no matter what the future brings, or how far you travel from her sight.” 

Elrond’s assurances soothed an anxiety Estel had not fully recognized until now. He was scared that this secret truth—which Elrond knew, he was sure—might isolate him from the only home he’d ever known. Maybe his fears were unfounded; maybe things would be all right... 

“You need to rest. You were only asleep for a few hours, and the sun still has yet to rise. When it descends from its height for the day, we will speak again.” 

Elrond placed a steady hand on Estel’s shoulder, and he suddenly felt what little energy he’d had rush out of him all at once. He lay down in the bed again, not protesting as Elrond pulled the blankets tighter around him, and soon felt the world going dark once more. 

He drifted off into a dreamless sleep, the melody of an ancient lullaby humming in the back of his mind. 

* * *

Elrond continued to sing to himself as he examined Estel’s injury. The melody was one that had always managed to lull a much younger Estel to sleep, no matter how insistent he’d been that he could stay awake through the whole night. After Elrond had taught the song to Gilraen, bedtimes had become infinitely easier to handle. 

Elrond smiled as he remembered simpler days, and was heartened by the fact that Estel’s wound was already mostly healed. By next nightfall, it would be like Estel’s flight into the woods had never happened. 

But it had happened—and that was not something Elrond could simply brush aside. 

Estel had always struggled with a fear of the unknown; an anxiety that all beings, but particularly Men, must contend with. He loved nothing more than regularity and routine: the consistency of weapons training and reading had always suited him best. He was sharp and strong, and quite skilled at fighting—but he loved peace more than war, and order over chaos. 

Although he did not know exactly what Estel’s dream had foretold, Elrond could tell that it had touched on the truth of Estel’s identity. He had long dreaded this day—the day when he would have to start calling Estel by another name—but Estel was almost twenty, and it was time. As painful as it would be for the boy, whom he loved as one of his own children, he had to reveal the history which, hidden until now, would set Estel on destiny’s path. 

Elrond did not fear that Estel would try to run away again; as much as uncertainty scared him, he was no coward, and would surely embrace his rightful role with grace—given time to do so. The transition would be neither swift nor smooth. Yet it had to happen, and the sooner the better, as far as Middle-earth was concerned. 

The Lord of Rivendell was loath to place such a heavy burden on the child who had shown him the strength, wisdom, and kindness that could lie in the hearts of Men. He had to, and so he would. Yet he would do so as gently and as kindly as possible; it was the least that Estel deserved. 

Elrond started humming the lullaby again, absent-mindedly, and Estel sighed contentedly in his sleep as the sun rose in a sapphire sky. 

* * *

When Estel awoke, the day was beginning to fade, and the warmth of the afternoon balanced on the cool breeze of the evening. He took his time getting out of bed, his muscles still sore from yesterday’s journey. He changed into fresh clothes—he was still wearing the ones he’d left Rivendell in—and walked to the door of his room. He took a steadying breath, let it out, and walked towards Elrond, who was seated at the table on the balcony facing his room. 

As Estel sat down, he noticed that there was a plate piled high with various fruits, a saucer of honey, and a piping hot cup of wildberry tea: the only meal he would eat when he was sick, ever since he was a small child. He glanced quickly at Elrond—who was looking West, towards the setting sun—and grasped the tea mug in his hands, smiling after he took the first, familiar sip. 

Elrond saw Estel’s smile at the edge of his gaze, and was gladdened by the sight. He was even more assured when, as he turned to face Estel, the boy’s smile did not fade. 

“Thank you for this,” Estel said, gesturing to the meal. “And...” 

Estel let out a short breath, the smile slipping from his face. 

“Thank you for going after me, the other day. I shouldn’t have left—and I don’t know what would have happened, if you hadn’t been there.” 

“How do you feel?” Elrond asked, his brow slightly furrowed. Estel had learned long ago that Elrond accepted any words of gratitude directed towards him by not mentioning them at all. 

“The wound barely hurts,” Estel responded honestly, experimentally flexing his ankle under the table. “It’s almost fully healed, I think.” 

Elrond nodded. Now it was his turn to hesitate, to search for the best words to use next. 

“I do not know exactly what your dreams told you, Estel. However, I sense that they touched upon the truth of your origins—the truth which I will tell you today, before the sunlight fades. I wished to do this while your mother was here, but I do not know exactly when she will return... and, given your actions yesterday, it seems best to address this topic now.” 

Estel cast his eyes downward, and struggled not to shift under Elrond’s gaze. After a long moment, he looked up again, determined to speak for himself. 

_“I saw the fragments of a broken sword, which once flashed bravely on the fields of war... I saw two snakes, with emeralds for eyes, forever intertwined, forever caught... I saw a dying tree, bark white as snow, and heard it swaying in some distant breeze..._

_“I heard a name I’ve never heard before—and yet, I know that it belongs to me... I heard grave lamentations in the dark, and knew they were for someone I had lost... I heard my mother weeping where she stood, and knew she wept because I left her side..._

_“I ran because I know my future waits, and that I cannot stay here when it comes... I ran because I fear to change myself, even if change must come to everyone... I ran because I thought I could best fate—but no one can do that; and this I know._

_“And I won’t run again, I promise you. I’m ready to embrace what lies in store.”_

As Estel finally decided to accept the truth, whatever it was, he felt all of the tension in his body disappear. He felt more at peace than he had in days; he was finally ready to learn about his past—and so, his future.

Elrond leaned forward in his chair, his familiar calm-yet-concentrated expression on his face. The time had finally come. 

“The shards you saw are those of the sword Narsil; the snakes are those found on the ring of Barahir; and the name you heard, which belongs to you, is Aragorn, son of Arathorn. Your father was killed when you were very young, and this was when your mother brought you to be raised here. I am sorry you did not get to know him; he was an excellent man.” 

“Fortunately,” Aragorn replied, looking at Elrond with sincerity in his eyes, “the person I shall always consider to be my father is also a most excellent soul.” 

Elrond had no words to respond with. He had always considered Estel as his son, ever since the boy came to Rivendell. But hearing _Aragorn_ call him father was moving in a way he could not even describe. 

“Tell me everything,” Aragorn said. Any lingering fear had disappeared from his thoughts, completely replaced by excitement and curiosity. “Tell me everything there is to know.” 

Elrond and Aragorn spoke until the sun had set; and soon, the silver stars shined brightly down on the future King of Gondor.


End file.
